Thank You
by blueowls
Summary: Kurt & Quinn friendship, side Brittana. //Kurt looks over his shoulder and feels his stomach drop.//


**Author Note: **For a gleeks friendship request.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Thank You**

When Mercedes arches a brow and stops talking in the middle of their debate over the pros and many, many cons of using straightening irons every day, Kurt looks over his shoulder and feels his stomach drop.

He's never been Quinn's target, because that title is served for Rachel. Santana, probably wallowing in denial and internalized homophobia, is the Cheerio that really has it out for him. But it still stings that Quinn uses him blatantly—although Rachel's disastrous makeover served his own interests, too—and goes right back to pretending he doesn't exist. And so it _really_ makes no sense why she's standing there, looking contrite and almost as if she wants to talk to him.

"Later," Mercedes says to him, pushing herself bodily off the lockers they're leaning against. She looks Quinn up and down haughtily before turning and sauntering down the hall. Kurt turns to face Quinn, arms crossed and mouth a tight line.

"Can I help you?" he asks icily.

"Can you help me get a birthday present for him?" Quinn asks quietly, and they both know she's talking about Finn. Before he can turn her down or even open his mouth, she takes a deep breath and continues, meeting his eyes. "I have something in mind, but you seem to know him better."

And then, eyes downcast, she adds, "And he doesn't let me near him."

"With good reason," Kurt sniffs, thinking of the occasional late-night phone calls from Finn that he still gets, although now they're less about preparing for a baby than coming to terms that fact that there's no baby and that that actually _hurts_, but he regrets it when pain flashes across Quinn's face. She may have been a total bitch before, but Babygate and glee have definitely knocked her down a few pegs, and he has to admit that since then, she's been a lot more humble and almost human.

Kurt lets out a long sigh before he looks away, glaring sourly at nothing, and nods his head, wondering if this is something he's going to regret. "North Hills mall, Saturday? Say, ten o'clock?"

Quinn nods again, one corner of her mouth turning up in a small, tired smile.

"Sure," she breathes gratefully as he flounces past her. He's out of hearing range before she can try to thank him further because he doesn't want to give in that easily.

It's still Quinn.

---

It's absolutely painful, the way Brittany and Santana interact. It wasn't even a surprise to find out they were sleeping together because their level of friendship outstripped even the best of BFFs. They took the fact that glee didn't disown them—as if glee would even dream of shunning the only thing keeping them from daily swirlies—as a green light to hold hands and showcase their semi-relationship. It's almost disgustingly adorable, but of course, there's still a healthy dose of bitchiness, mostly from Santana, thrown in.

"Move it or lose it, Fabray," Santana barks, turning around in the passenger seat to sneer at her. Quinn stares back at her impassively, unmoving, until Brittany sighs from the driver's seat, turning her head to peek at Quinn over the shoulder of the seat.

"Is two o'clock good?" she asks, and Quinn nods stiffly, reaching for the door handle. As she lets herself out of the car, she rolls her eyes at Santana through the window as Brittany gives her a small wave before they drive away. Clutching her purse to her body almost nervously, Quinn turns and takes a deep breath, walking forward. In front of the mall, Kurt's sitting on a bench, totally absorbed in texting.

"Hey," she says, stopping several feet away from him. He looks up at her and then back down to finish his text, sliding his phone in his pocket before he stands and heads toward the double doors of the entrance. It's surprising how much it hurts, and Quinn bites her lip nervously, wondering just how painful this whole trip is going to be before Kurt reaches out and holds one of the doors open, looking at her expectantly.

"Well, are you coming in?" he drawls, and she forces herself forward, nodding her thanks as she slips by and he follows her.

"I haven't been here in a long time," Quinn admits, fingers playing with the strap of her purse. Kurt glances at her hands as they stop in the walkway, and she stops, letting them drifting down to her sides. She refuses to let them stray to her stomach, which used to be a habit.

"Me neither," Kurt admits as he looks at her sideways, chuckling as he tries to lighten the situation. "I mean, why should I? They don't even have a Guess, for God's sake."

Quinn laughs softly, hiking her purse more comfortably over her shoulder as they meander almost aimlessly, taking in all the different stores. Maybe it's the fact that they're shopping, but Kurt seems willing to put aside their history for the day, even if only to get Finn a nice present.

"Well, that might be a good thing. I don't exactly have your budget."

Kurt makes a noncommittal noise as they stop in front of an American Eagle, appraising the clothes on the models in the window, and Quinn can tell he's forgotten about that. Brittany and her family are a godsend, but she's still trying to pay off medical bills and always feels like she's imposing, no matter how welcoming Brittany's mother is. Spending money is a luxury she doesn't have.

"I can help," he offers, cocking a hip as he checks his phone again. "If you find the perfect gift."

Quinn shakes her head as she turns and heads into the store. She hears Kurt sigh dramatically before he falls in step behind her, and she smiles a little, knowing he wouldn't normally be caught dead in American Eagle. They drift to the back of the store, where Quinn finds the jacket that caught her eye in the window.

"Thank you for offering, but I think this is something I want to do myself," she admits, flicking through the jackets and peering at the tags. She winces at the price but focuses on finding the right size, picking out a medium and holding it up by the hanger. She had never really looked at what exact size Finn wore, back when they were together. And without Finn around, she's forgetting little things like whether a medium or a large would fit him better. "Does this look right?"

Kurt narrows his eyes, pauses, and shakes his head, reaching out and picking a large and an extra-large. He glances coolly over them, putting the large back and handing the other jacket to her.

"That'll probably work better," he says, and Quinn feels her face grow hot. Not a blush, but close, and she bites her lip as she nods, heading toward the register. As she lays down the jacket on the counter and the cashier takes it, ringing it up and totaling the purchase, she hesitantly hands over more cash than she's almost comfortable paying and realizes that Kurt knows more about Finn at this point than she does. And maybe Kurt can see it, too, because as Quinn takes the bag and tries to keep smiling—or at least not cry—as they head out of the store, Kurt hooks an arm through hers.

"Want to try on clothes?" he asks brightly and, seeing the look on Quinn's face, quickly adds, "just for fun. And we can have lunch after. My treat."

She offers Kurt a hesitant smile, because it's all going so much better than she hoped it would have. It's almost too perfect, but she nods because she'd rather not dwell on that. "Brittany said she'd pick me up around two, though."

"Fantastic," Kurt says giddily, turning and dragging her toward an H&M like he had it all planned out ahead of time. "I told you, makeovers are my crack."

---

Quinn's in the dressing room trying on a top as Kurt sits on the couch just outside, waiting for her to come out and show him, so it's fairly shocking when something falls on his head and he hears familiar laughter behind him. He yanks whatever it is off his head and half-expects it to be a slushie just out of habit even though it's solid and not sliding down the back of his shirt, but he finds that it's a fairly nice dark gray fedora. Turning around in his seat, he finds Brittany and Santana standing behind him, standing side-by-side in normal clothing and their Cheerio varsity jackets, free hands loosely clasped together because Brittany's holding a creamy white dress in her other hand.

"Hey," he manages to stammer with none of his usual poise or eloquence. Why are they here and, even more importantly, why are they talking to him? "Did Quinn tell you we would be here?"

"You should buy that," Brittany says instead, taking the hat and putting it back on his head. "And no. I wanted a dress here and Santana wanted some lingerie from Victoria's—"

It's as far as she gets, because Santana places a hand over her mouth abruptly, effectively muffling the rest of her sentence.

"Coincidence," Santana says flatly as Brittany peels her hand off her mouth and, after a moment's hesitation, presses a kiss to the palm and bats her eyelashes at her. Santana frowns darkly, but by now Kurt knows that the more she looks angry, the more she's trying to cover up how she really feels. Except when she really_ is_ angry, and it's pretty hard to tell between the two, so Kurt just steers clear of her most of the time. "Quinn's here?"

"She should be out soon," Kurt says amiably, and Brittany looks around quickly over her shoulders to make sure none of the employees are watching before she smiles deviously and vaults over the back of the couch and lands next to him, bouncing on the cushions, jarring his shoulder, and knocking Quinn's bag to the floor.

"Weak," Santana sniffs tartly, walking around the end of the couch to sit calmly next to Brittany as Kurt winces and reaches down to pick up the bag, dusting it off. "Sylvester would kill you if you failed like that during practice."

"If I failed like that in practice, I'd _be_ dead," Brittany mutters as the stall door in front of them opens. Quinn steps out, dressed and looking completely unsurprised the two Cheerios are now sitting next to Kurt.

"You were supposed to show me what you picked out," Kurt sighs defeatedly. He'd expect something like this from Rachel, but not Quinn. "That's the whole fun of this, Quinn."

"I heard those two talking," she answers, a wry smile forming. "I'd rather cut your little fashion show short before they start making out in the next stall and we have to listen to them."

Santana snorts derisively and crosses her arms, leaning back against the couch. "I've got more class than that, Fabray."

"I only need Santana in there to help me zip up the back of the dress," Brittany adds defensively. She looks at Kurt, narrowing her eyes mischievously. "But I could always ask Kurt for help."

Kurt stands abruptly, sweeping the hat off his head and placing it atop Brittany's before picking up the bag and offering Quinn an arm. "Let's go. Now, please."

"Gladly," Quinn agrees, hooking a hand over the crook of Kurt's elbow as she takes the bag with Finn's gift in it from him. "See you two later."

"Two o'clock!" Brittany reminds her. Santana frowns as they leave, still stinging from Quinn's insult, but then Brittany stands and tugs Santana toward the stall, holding up the dress in her other hand.

"Help me zip it up?" she asks, smiling sweetly. Santana smirks and reaches out to tilt the hat on Brittany's head to a rakish angle before she follows her into the stall, pulling the door shut after them and locking it.

"Gladly."

---

Quinn picks at her plate, twirling strands of spaghetti around the tines of her fork and dragging it through the pesto sauce with no intention of actually eating it. Looking up, she sees that Kurt's still nibbling on his salad unworriedly, but the question's been weighing heavily on her all day, and she decides to bring it up now rather than later.

"Could you give it to him for me?"

Kurt looks up, setting his fork down and patting his lips with a napkin before speaking.

"What do you mean?" he asks, wording his question carefully as he looks up at her. Quinn sighs in defeat and puts her fork down, reaching up to run a hand through her hair.

"I'll wrap it and everything," she explains. "But he won't take anything from me."

There's an awkward silence that falls over them, and Quinn wonders if maybe this is the point where the whole good day starts to go downhill.

"I don't want to be your enabler," Kurt finally says. "But I'll do it."

---

He holds the neatly wrapped present out to Finn, holding his breath as the other boy takes it and sits on his bed. Kurt hesitates before taking a seat next to him, fingers curling into the comforter as Finn looks up at him quizzically.

"Is this from you?" he asks, worrying a corner of the wrapping paper, and Kurt shakes his head. They're friends, but not good enough friends to buy each other presents. And then—_oh, God_—Kurt's suddenly mortified because Finn probably thinks he's hitting on him here, in his room, on his birthday.

"It's not like that," Kurt says quickly, feeling his entire body heat up. "Just open it."

Finn shrugs and tears the paper away, revealing a flat, plain white box. Putting it down on his lap, he lifts the top off the box, revealing the jacket laying folded on a bed of creamy tissue paper.

"It's from Quinn," Kurt says, words rushed. He reaches out, placing a hand on top of the present in case the whole thing's hurtled at the wall or out the window, but Finn's still, staring with a blank expression on his face.

"I'm not asking you to forgive her or even talk to her, because that's your business. Just don't throw this away even if you don't wear it because she doesn't have a lot of money and I saw the price tag. She honestly cares about you, Finn," Kurt says, voice calm and even. He knows he'll never have Finn because even though they've grown close, Finn's told him explicitly that while he appreciates his friendship, that is something he can't do. It's like Rachel said, even though it's a different girl—it's not even a competition between him and Quinn, because he doesn't even place. It's something he's come to terms with a long time ago and tries—_tries_—to respect, even if he doesn't understand. "I think she misses you. And the baby, too."

Finn's face scrunches up, but there are no tears or yelling or anything else, just a long, deep sigh as he places the box next to him on the bed and his head drops slowly down into his hands.

"I don't know what to do," he admits, voice strained. "I can't even look at her without thinking about last year."

Kurt reaches out tentatively and pats his shoulder. Maybe it's not the manliest thing to do, but Finn doesn't pull away.

"Just do what feels right."

---

She's walking with Rachel and trying to listen to her plans on how to become an EGOT winner by age twenty when they step into the glee room and she sees Finn talking to Mike and wearing the jacket. She spends the rest of rehearsal wondering what it means and what she should do. Does he think it's from Kurt? Should she compliment him on it? Pretend it's not a big deal? Ignore it? But she finally settles on just talking to him, because if he's wearing it and actually looking _at_ her instead of_through_ her, then he must know.

She walks up to Finn after practice, who thankfully lingers long enough that the entire room's empty, and she knows Kurt's waiting in the doorway, shooing Mercedes off because he's played such a big part in this, he'll be damned if he doesn't at least get to see how it ends. And if it goes badly, she'll have a shoulder to cry on—or at least she'll have someone to hand her tissues, considering he's wearing McQueen.

"Hey," Quinn breathes as she stands awkwardly in front of Finn.

"Hi," Finn says back quietly, hands dipping into the pockets of the jacket. There's a long silence as they struggle to find words, Finn shifting his weight from one foot to the other until he speaks first.

"The jacket's really warm," Finn finally says. Quinn feels her face crumple as she tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and looks away, blinking back tears.

"Good," she whispers before Finn envelopes her in his arms.

When she's collected herself and they break apart, Quinn turns around, but Kurt's gone.

---

The next day, Kurt strolls up to his locker after school to find a plain yellow Post-It stuck to the front of it. Vaguely surprised that no one's ripped it off yet or scrawled something obscene over it—McKinley jocks obviously don't see the irony in drawing penises on his locker—he peels it off and holds it up to read it.

All it says in Quinn's perfect handwriting is 'thank you,' but for Kurt, it's enough.


End file.
